


Backwards Looking Forwards

by adamwhatareyouevendoing



Series: Side By Side [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamwhatareyouevendoing/pseuds/adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extras to Uhtred and Leofric's scenes in the show, charting their evolution from dislike, to friendship, to something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 3

“His head, and you can have your peace. Him... Uhtred Ragnarson. A traitor.”

Leofric’s not quite sure why he moves to stand in front of Uhtred; indeed he’s as surprised as Ubba is amused by the unconscious and innate desire to provide protection.

He reacts with violence to Ubba’s provocation, feeling his way back onto safe ground, but does not change his stance; remaining positioned between the enraged Dane and his desired target until Ubba backs off to a safe distance.

 

* * *

 

“Lord, if I may. The arseling here is barely a man, and you expect him to teach me how to fight?”

Leofric isn’t angry as such; he has known anger, and this is not it. Indignation is closer to the truth—indignation that Alfred thinks that this newcomer, this _Dane_ , knows anything worth teaching him and his men. He can feel the young man’s eyes on him, no doubt glaring daggers at his statement; confirms it with a quick glance. _Fine_ , he thinks, _let him_.

“Leofric, I expect him to teach you nothing. Whip him with staves in practice by all means.”

"Thank you Lord." He does not wish to think of whipping the man, with staves or not – he’d rather run him through with one.

But he has to accept the word of the King, and if the defiance in Uhtred’s eyes as he stares him down kindles Leofric’s interest, he doesn’t yet have words to voice it.

 

* * *

 

It turns out that the arseling isn't half bad as a warrior. That doesn't stop Leofric from giving him a hard a time as possible though, of course; taking the opportunity to fight with him each time the sides oppose each other. But Uhtred doesn’t give up, no matter how many times Leofric knocks him to the ground.

He watches the construction of the shield wall with grudging respect.

“I like it, arseling. I do.”

If Uhtred’s proud smile twists something within him, he doesn’t let it show.

 

* * *

 

Aethelwold finally, finally leaves their table – stumbling off in a drunken stupor to likely try and find some poor woman to sleep with, if he can stay conscious for that long.

Leofric watches him go with undisguised amusement; turns back to find Uhtred regarding him across the table, as he has been doing all evening.

“I didn’t know you were with the barmaid,” Uhtred says, and Leofric detects something in his voice—closed-off, almost accusatory.

”I’m with anyone who wants me,” he smirks, watching fascinatedly as Uhtred’s eyes drop briefly to the table.

He swills the last of the mead around in his beaker before knocking it back. “I’d better get back to Brida,” he says, already half-way to standing. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

A curt nod and he walks off into the darkness, leaving Leofric to watch him, and wonder.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred hears his approach; knows instinctively who it is. After all, who else would follow him this far out of the camp?

“I take it she has gone then?” Leofric asks, following Uhtred’s fierce gaze out to sea. “I’m guessing that it’s Alfred that kept you here?” After all, why else would the man stay?

“I sold myself for a mail coat and helmet,” Uhtred says in response, tone bitter.

“That’s what we do. We sell ourselves,” he admits, catching Uhtred’s small smile as he turns his head. “This year, what you’ve given to Alfred – it’s not about a mail coat. It’s about you.” He wonders if Uhtred actually hasn’t seen this coming. “The bastard thinks – didn’t I say? He wants more than a year’s service. He wants you to help take back England. All of England.”

He looks back at the young man next to him, who returns his gaze. He at least looks unsurprised by this news.

“Of course, when the year’s up, you could go back to the Danes,” Leofric suggests, feeling Uhtred’s eyes on him. “That would at least give me the chance to kill you.”

Uhtred gives a small laugh and he wonders quite when the suggestion became a joke between them, rather than a serious desire. He cannot trace the moment; all he knows is that it has happened.

“But what would you be? Who would you be?” Leofric asks, genuinely searching.

He starts to walk away, but then Uhtred hears him stop, can feel without looking that Leofric has turned back to him.

“You coming?” he asks, after a moment.

No response, no movement.

He tries again. “Arseling. Come on.”

Uhtred eventually tears his eyes away from the departing boats, his torn expression setting into stone before he turns to regard Leofric.

“Eat with me,” Leofric offers as they walk back to camp, surprising himself once again.

A chink of light appears in Uhtred’s eyes; a slight softening in his features.

Leofric takes it as acceptance.

 


	2. Episode 4

The winter chill blows bitterly through the courtyard. Uhtred looks unhappier than usual, standing sulkily against the wall as Leofric warms his hands. It’s a futile endeavour, but no more so than Uhtred’s endless worrying.

“I wasn’t allowed to meet her. I haven’t seen her,” he whinges, continuing the tirade against his upcoming nuptials that Leofric has been treated to, in an endless stream, since the news had been imparted to the disgruntled young man only one day ago. Leofric could swear it’s felt that time a hundred-fold.

“It is the way,” he tells Uhtred, for what feels like the hundredth time this morning, clapping him on the back, encouraging him to move. If they make it to the ceremony on time it’ll be a miracle, Leofric thinks.

“I was unaware of her existence till yesterday,” Uhtred continues, obviously oblivious to the fact he’s mentioned this before as well. “She’ll be plain and pious?” he asks.

“Oh, she’ll be pious alright. If she was a leg-spreader, Alfred would have been on her by now,” Leofric smirks, but Uhtred does not look jovial.

“Have you seen her?” he asks, voice taking on a nervous edge.

Leofric could take the opportunity to marvel at Uhtred showing weakness in front him—maybe in the past would even have teased him about it—but they’re too far gone for that. Somewhere in the dislike, they have come to find something akin to friendship—whether grudgingly or not, they have been thrown together. You make what you want out of circumstances, and they’ve chosen this.

“A distance away,” he tells Uhtred. “’Plain is a fair description.”

They walk through the courtyard towards the church as they discuss the bride price.

“I’ve made promises… For revenge and such,” Uhtred admits as they draw to a halt.

“Why are you here? Do you know?” Leofric asks, facing him. His eyes are kind; expression earnest.

“She brings land. I become a Lord under Alfred, I’ll be able to make wealth, gather men, take back what’s mine.” Uhtred sounds determined, even though his expression is closer to despair.

“All reasons enough,” Leofric admits, his eyes searching Uhtred’s, opening him up to honesty.

“Plain or not, she serves a purpose,” he reasons, voice uncompromising.

Leofric moves closer, hoping that, if nothing else, Uhtred remembers these words from today. “The promises you have made will stand. Blood feuds last a lifetime.” His words are accompanied by a jabbing finger in the young man’s chest, enforcing the severity of his words – how much he truly means them. “What you do arseling, is you keep living each day until the last.”

Uhtred holds his gaze for a long moment.

 

* * *

 

Leofric glances at the man next to him in the church; Uhtred is staring resolutely ahead with fearful eyes.

He remembers when Uhtred had asked him to be with him at the wedding, as though he didn’t know, or even expect, that Leofric would be there on Alfred’s orders to make sure the nuptials go ahead. Leofric had just about managed to maintain gruffness in his acceptance.

He’s about to say something – reassure Uhtred somehow – when he’s saved by Father Beocca bursting into the room. ”She’s here, praise God!” he exclaims, unnecessarily loudly considering the quiet of the room. “You should stand and look respectful, if not entirely clean.”

“How is she?” Uhtred asks, and there’s no mistaking the nervousness this time. He doesn’t even bother to protest that he is clean, even though Leofric knows he has been up since dawn and spent most of that time down by the river.

“Terrified, I’ll bet,” Leofric jokes. If Uhtred catches the irony, he’s too concerned to react.

When everyone is gathered Father Beocca gestures for Uhtred to stand with his bride. “If the betrothed couple would like to join me at the altar and join hands.”

Uhtred doesn’t move. Leofric gently cajoles him forwards with a guiding hand on the back.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred has been astounded by his bride ever since he clapped eyes on her. Leofric would consider it romantic if it weren’t getting a tad wearing. The girl looks petrified, and so far all Uhtred has managed to do is stare at her with doe-eyes.

He finally makes an effort at conversation as they are saddling their horses, ready for the journey back to Mildrith’s estate. Uhtred hasn’t actually questioned Leofric’s presence in this journey – whether or not he knows Leofric is to stay with him until further notice, by order of Alfred and on behalf of Odda the Elder, remains to be seen.

“My name’s Uhtred. Call me Uhtred,” he tells his wife.

As touching as the bonding moment is, they need to get moving if they are to make the distance safely in daylight.

“Arseling!” Leofric calls, well aware of his timing. He smirks at Uhtred to let him know that the interruption was purposeful, before continuing, “Time we were on our way.”

Uhtred turns to his wife with a smile, and says, loud enough for Leofric to hear, “Or from time to time you may wish to call me ‘arseling’.”

 

* * *

 

They ride together for a long while in companionable silence.

“Lord,” Leofric begins in warning. Uhtred turns to him with a smile, which fades when he notices where Leofric is looking. “Danes.”

They pull to a halt as Uhtred follows his gaze.

“Why are we stopping? Who are they?” Mildrith asks, her voice fearful.

Leofric looks back at her when Uhtred doesn’t respond to his wife’s question. "Foragers, most likely,” he says, attempting reassurance. “Danes, all the same.”

“Will they attack?” her voice quivers.

“We walk on.”

 Leofric internally rolls his eyes at Uhtred’s brusque manner; is about to say something in reprimand when Mildrith says, “They're following us.”

 Uhtred still does not turn to look at her. “We walk on. They won't attack.”

“Then why have you drawn your sword?” she accuses.

 Leofric sees the smug smile cross Uhtred’s face. “To show them at least one of them will die.”

 “One or two,” Leofric agrees determinedly, unsheathing his own sword.

They are silent in their solidarity.

 

* * *

 

Even though Leofric has taken to the rear of the group, allowing the bride and groom some time alone, he can still hear every word that passes between them. It is almost as though Uhtred wants him to hear, speaking loudly as he addresses the question forefront on his mind.

“Why are you not already married? You’re old enough to have had two or three children by now.”

“Lord Arseling,” Leofric calls. “There is a time for such questions, and it has passed.”

Uhtred must detect the hardness in his words, as he does not let the issue lie. “Why has Alfred gifted me such a beautiful bride?”

Mildrith finally shares her story with them.

It is not Leofric’s place to comment, but he has warned Uhtred many times to be wary, and yet here they are again; this time on their way to a frost-bitten, debt-riddled estate. He can only chuckle at Alfred’s gall, even as Uhtred exclaims in disbelief, “Damn him. Damn everything he stands for.”

It is not the first time he has been played for a fool, and Leofric knows it won’t be the last. The young man is a warrior, not a politician, and if nothing else, he has Leofric’s respect for that.

 

* * *

 

Leofric follows Uhtred as he storms into the small house, face like thunder.

“Now there's a welcome sight!” Leofric exclaims, rubbing his hands together to dispel the cold. Uhtred makes no move to stop him so he helps himself to the food laid out on the table.

“I was expecting there to be a hall and I find this,” Uhtred says, underwhelmed and petulant.

Even this is more luxurious than the dwellings Leofric has been used to for most of his life. “Pay off your debts and you can build a hall,” he tells Uhtred. “Didn't I tell you the bastard thinks?” He has – time and time again, and yet still Uhtred walks into Alfred’s traps.

“If he believes he can make me beg, he can think again,” Uhtred mutters, but he joins Leofric at the table to eat.

“He doesn't want you to beg – he wants you to obey.”

“Never,” Uhtred vows.

Leofric is almost glad he’s here with Uhtred; clearly the young man cannot be left to his own devices. He wonders quite when he unconsciously decided that protecting Uhtred from himself was his responsibility, but here he is.

Regardless of that responsibility, he’s well aware he needs to escape the atmosphere between Uhtred and his wife, who has just entered the house. He waits for the chance to get a word in edgeways as they argue.

“I'll make my way to the barn,” he interrupts, turning to leave.

Uhtred looks surprised. “You're a guest, you can sleep in the house.”

Leofric feels caught, turning back to face him. He gestures to the outside, looking uncomfortable. “I'd prefer the barn, thank you.” He smirks at Uhtred’s terrified expression as he points out, “It is your wedding night. Goodnight Lady. Arseling.”

He beats a hasty retreat, hoping Uhtred doesn’t catch the look on his own face at that thought.

 

* * *

 

This is how the months pass. Uhtred and Leofric help the tenants to tend the land: in spring, they can be seen directing and assisting the men in sowing seeds; in felling the trees from the surrounding forest. If Leofric resents this manual labour he says nothing. Nor does he complain about sleeping in the barn night after night, giving Uhtred and Mildrith their own space; nor the lack of fighting.

They sometimes go out riding together, clad in their armour once again, in a return to familiarity. They trawl the surrounding land, keeping an eye out for any approaching Danes.

If it’s a relief to finally see movement of the Danish troops, neither of them admit it to anyone but each other, and even then it’s exchanged wordlessly, a brief glance towards the other.

“Back to war,” Leofric murmurs, quiet enough for only Uhtred to hear, astride his horse next to him.

“Back to Alfred,” Uhtred responds, and perhaps only Leofric will understand the lassitude in his voice, the reluctance to return to that world; not the bloodshed—that’s straightforward enough—but the politics.

“How many do you see?” Leofric asks, once their plan to return to Winchester is agreed.

“The question is, how many will follow?” Uhtred replies.

“We should leave now, it’ll be dark soon,” Leofric notes.

 

* * *

 

Throughout their council with Alfred and his ealdormen, Leofric’s calming presence is the only thing that prevents Uhtred from losing his temper completely. He backs him up, supports him, and thankfully makes Alfred listen to his advice.

Leofric hangs back as everyone else leaves the council chambers, waiting for Uhtred to settle his issue with young Odda; waiting and enjoying the boy’s comeuppance.

“You are heathen,” Odda spits in response to Uhtred’s taunt.

“And you're a virgin,” Uhtred responds. Leofric marvels at his nerve.

“No I'm not,” Odda splutters, storming out.

Uhtred smirks, and Leofric can’t resist stepping closer to comment, “Yes he is,” with a similar smile.

They walk out together.

 

* * *

 

They ready their horses together, preparing for the ride to Werham. Uhtred is quiet, obviously resenting the fact he has to leave behind his wife and unborn child. Leofric doesn’t pressure him into talking, leaves him to contemplate in silence.

Uhtred’s face brightens when he sees Mildrith, darting up the steps to bid her goodbye.

Leofric watches the tender exchange from atop his horse. When Uhtred shows no signs of pulling away he calls out, “Arseling! Kiss her and let’s be on our way.”

He returns Uhtred’s smile.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred is still quiet. He seems to be content enough in glaring at the back of young Odda’s head, but the journey is long and Leofric is bored.

“Arseling!” he says, loud enough to catch Uhtred’s attention, but low enough that young Odda cannot overhear them. “She’ll be fine.”

Uhtred turns to look at him, and from the terrified look on his face, Leofric has read his silence correctly.

“It’s us you should be worrying about,” he adds. They are back to being pawns in Alfred’s game once again – the most dangerous position of all.

 

* * *

 

The morning dawns, the bright sun belying the threat of war in the air. Leofric wanders out of his tent, spotting Uhtred cleaning his sword a little way off, facing away from him.

“Morning arseling!” Leofric calls out as he approaches him, and to his credit, Uhtred doesn’t slip with the cloth. He turns, smile already in place as he greets him.

It’s their last moment of peace, as young Odda begins ringing the gong, crying out for war.

“We could be slipping in blood and entrails before the day is out,” Leofric says triumphantly, addressing Uhtred. He continues the movement of the cloth against his sword, but smiles nevertheless.

“With luck,” he returns.

 

* * *

 

“Does the bastard ever stop thinking?” Uhtred exclaims, striding into Leofric’s tent.

Leofric turns to him, seeming unperturbed by the unexpected visit even though he’s in the process of washing. Indeed it’s Uhtred who seems more caught, his eyes darting for purchase; fixing intently on the table. Leofric pulls a shirt over his head, face twisted in amusement, and Uhtred’s gaze finally settles on his face.

“You know you can be disciplined for talking about the King that way, Lord Arseling,” Leofric smirks.

“He can do no worse than already planned,” Uhtred fumes, whilst Leofric looks confused. “I’m to be sent as a hostage to the Danes.”

Leofric physically recoils. “It’s a death sentence,” he says, voice flat and cold.

“Not in his opinion,” Uhtred says. “Apparently he expects me to escape.” His face reflects the disbelief Leofric feels.

“The purpose of this mission?” he asks. “Other than to transfer the problem of your death to the Danes, save him the trouble,” Leofric glowers.

“I’m to spy on them, find out when Ubba returns, escape, and light a beacon to alert him,” Uhtred lists.

“Not much then,” Leofric says with a wry smile. “When are you to leave?”

“Now,” Uhtred says – then, at length, “If I don’t make it back… You’ll look after Mildrith and my son.” It comes out not as a question, but a demand.

“You have my word,” Leofric promises. There are a thousand things he wants to say but cannot think of words to voice any of them. He settles for a nod, hoping his eyes can convey what his mouth can’t.

A bell tolls outside the tent, calling them to action. Uhtred gives him a last smile, merely a twist of the mouth, before he leaves.

Leofric doesn’t see him again that day.

 


	3. Episode 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And at the end is where we finally diverge from canon.

Leofric barely has time to feel relief when he sees Uhtred; it’s a brief swelling surge, cut short as Uhtred pushes Odda to the ground, sword to his neck. Leofric draws his own sword and approaches.

Uhtred feels the touch of steel against his neck and instantly freezes.

“Lord, you will take your blade away from my Lord, and you will do it now,” Leofric says. He is commanding—in this moment he has no choice but to protect Odda, not Uhtred—yet he adds, “Arseling,” as a gentle, more personal warning.

Uhtred does not immediately move away, so Leofric continues, attempting to appeal to him, rather than threaten him. “You have my word that neither Mildrith nor your son have been harmed. I swear. Do as I ask,” he pleads, though his voice is controlled. He’s not sure what to do if Uhtred doesn’t move—luckily he doesn’t have to find out.

Slowly, Uhtred removes his sword from Odda’s neck and rises to his feet. Leofric keeps his own sword against Uhtred’s neck as he reaches forward to take the offending weapon, before finally lowering his own.

“You are back from the dead and unchanged,” Leofric states incredulously, once Odda has departed.

Uhtred tips his head back, perhaps in a gesture of frustration, as Leofric teases him, though his voice holds a note of warning. “All you had to do was get down from your horse and ask ‘Have you seen my wife?’” He hands Uhtred his sword back, willing him to meet his eyes.

Instead, Uhtred turns from him. “That would have been the better choice, yes,” he admits. Leofric can hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, “But then Young Odda wouldn’t have shit himself.”

He turns, and at last Leofric can see the smile on his face – in his eyes. They share a laugh, pulling each other close. When they draw apart, Leofric’s hand rests on Uhtred’s arm for a brief moment longer, revelling in the feel of him; the fact he is still here.

Uhtred’s eyes are earnest as his concerns return to his family. “You’ve seen her? She’s well?” he asks.

“She is well.” Leofric confirms. The smile slides off his face. “The child however...”

Uhtred’s face drops. “Sickly,” he states in fear.

“Ugly,” Leofric says with a mock-serious expression.

An amused smile crosses Uhtred’s face. “Like his father,” he says teasingly.

Leofric shakes his head. “Worse. And with the smallest of pebbles for a penis,” he smiles cheekily.

“Like his father,” Uhtred supplies.

He dips his head in acknowledgment, laughing with Uhtred as he playfully punches him.

“If you wish to see him for yourself, arseling, I say you leave the way you came,” Leofric says, returning to business. Uhtred’s smile slips off his face. “I’m serious, we are stuck on this hill and here we will die.” His voice flat and hard, but he is not worried, merely stating the facts – merely trying to protect Uhtred once again, and get him far away from here.

Uhtred looks away, clearly torn by the thought of leaving. Leofric can barely bring himself to wonder if he is torn by the thought of leaving him. “What does Odda say?” he asks.

“Odda is a decent man. But as a warrior, he has all the guile and menace of a sheep.”

Uhtred smiles at the turn of phrase, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“I’m staying,” he says determinedly. “For now at least.”

Leofric doesn’t trust himself to reply to that, so simply jerks his head towards the cluster of tents in silent invitation. “You’d better wait for Odda to calm down before you go to him,” he says. “So explain to me how you survived.”

Uhtred nods in wordless acceptance, following Leofric to his tent, where he looks at him expectantly.

“The truth?” Uhtred asks, allowing Leofric plausible deniability if he wants it. He doesn’t.

“I only ask that you tell it once. You may say anything to Odda, but I ask that you’re honest with me.”

Uhtred cannot deny him that.

“Brida and Ragnar were there,” he says. Leofric looks incredulous, but also strangely pleased: he had always respected Brida, and knows Uhtred cared for her and his brother; there is also the relief that he wasn’t alone. “As expected, upon the news of Ubba’s return, Guthrum ordered all the hostages to be killed,” Uhtred continues. “I tried to escape, but I failed. Ragnar and Brida protected me, even though they knew I had been sent to spy.”

“Loyalty is hard to destroy,” Leofric remarks quietly.

Uhtred nods. If he notices the double meaning in Leofric’s words, he does not say. “Ragnar told Guthrum if he wanted to kill me, he’d have to kill him as well,” he continues. “He would have lost the support of Ragnar’s army, so he relented.”

“I’m glad,” Leofric confesses.

“Me too,” Uhtred smiles. They are silent for a few moments, then: “What is Odda’s plan here?”

“Honestly, I’m not certain. He wants to live, not fight, but I fear we cannot do one without the other,” Leofric admits. ”If we stay on this hill, we will certainly die; if we fight, most of us will certainly die, but at least we stand a chance.” He pauses a moment, weighing something in his mind. “Lord Odda has called a meeting tonight – he may extend the invite to you, if he is not too angry, but if not, I will aim to request your presence. It would be wise to have your advice again.”

“Thank you,” Uhtred says.

“Though you would be wise to hold your tongue,” Leofric advises. “Young Odda would see you dead, so don’t make it easy for him.” He knows the words are futile – Uhtred will always do as he wishes, with no regard for his own life – but Leofric has to try. This damned need to protect him.

 

* * *

 

As predicted, Uhtred does not hold back.

Leofric watches him carefully throughout the exchange, and prays that he does not push it too far. In the end it is Uhtred who is pushed too far; the urge to follow as he storms off does not even take Leofric by surprise, but he remains seated.

“If the other hostages were killed, how did he survive?” Young Odda asks angrily.

Leofric has no idea what Uhtred told Lord Odda, nor what he has, or hasn’t, shared with his son. All he says is: “He was taken as a child by the Danes and he survived.” He doesn't mention he survived in the same way this time as the last, by being protected by his Danish family. “We would do well to follow him.”

“Follow him?”

“Or listen to what he has to say Lord, is what I meant,” Leofric corrects.

It’s the first time he has let slip of his loyalty and his devotion to Uhtred.

 

* * *

 

He can only think that perhaps Uhtred does not feel the same, however.

“Ealdorman Uhtred has volunteered himself to distract the Danes. He will endeavour to set alight a number of their ships,” Odda announces.

Leofric feels his heart drop. “He has gone?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes.”

“Alone?” Once again, he knows the truth, concern balling in his stomach. Odda’s affirmation only makes the dread intensify.

 

* * *

 

They stand on the hillside watching the horizon.

“Lord Odda, we’re ready – but to do what?” Wulfhere asks. Leofric is glad for his lead; he has no words to voice the suggestion that they may be leaving Uhtred to his fate.

Odda says nothing for a few moments, watching the flames leap up into the darkness. “He’s done it,” he breathes, sounding surprised but impressed. “Look, he’s fired the ships.”

Leofric had no doubt. Uhtred has always delivered on his promises.

He waits tensely for Odda’s command; he does not expect him to go against his word, and yet he cannot be sure. He is torn. If the order is to flee, he cannot disobey, but could he really leave Uhtred? That really would be a death sentence.

Luckily he does not have find out which way his loyalty falls.

“We attack,” Odda says decisively.

Leofric feels a rush of relief.

 

* * *

 

In the wake of the battle with Ubba’s men, they have barely had chance to catch sight of one another, let alone talk to each other.

It is only as dawn breaks that Leofric can finally break away from his duties and make his way over to where Uhtred is sitting, staring out at the sea in silent, and weary, contemplation.

“Get this inside your belly, arseling,” he says as he approaches. Uhtred looks up, taking the proffered bread gratefully. “God knows you deserve it.”

Leofric sits down next to him, blood still on his face, and Uhtred feels a surge of something he cannot quite name at the thought that Leofric is here, taking care of him, even before sorting himself out.

He passes over some water as well, and Uhtred’s heart leaps as their fingers brush against each other. If Leofric is affected too, his face does not give it away.

“Lord Odda is hurt. Badly,” Leofric says eventually.

Uhtred turns to him in shock.

“He kept his word,” he says, eyes once again on the rippling water.

“He would,” Leofric agrees, as though he experienced no moment of doubt in that fact himself. “He is a good man. A good Ealdorman.” He finds he cannot take his eyes off Uhtred. After all, what’s the point of staring out at the horizon when his whole world is right in front of him?

“I want Ubba buried with his axe,” Uhtred tells him determinedly.

“His axe has gone,” Leofric admits in surprise. Uhtred’s eyes shoot up in shock and disbelief. “Young Odda wants him cut into pieces.”

“No, that can't happen,” Uhtred is adamant, his voice betraying a hint of anger, but at Odda, not Leofric.

“He would have done the same to you,” Leofric says, even though he cannot bear the thought, and hopes his words don’t convey the horror he feels recoiling in his stomach.

“He is Ubba – as close as the Danes will ever come to a King,” Uhtred interrupts in frustration.

Leofric looks away. “I’ll see he’s buried,” he says softly. God only knows how he’ll convince Odda, but for Uhtred, he will try. He turns once again to Uhtred. “You – you have a task ahead,” he tells him. “You go directly to Alfred and you kneel at his feet and tell the bastard you’ve saved Wessex.” He leans close, trying to impress upon him how serious this is.

Uhtred is looking back out to sea. “No, I’ll go to Mildrith,” he says, his mouth set with determination.

Leofric tries not to let his frustration show. “If you don’t do it, some other bugger will, and there will be reward.”

“Men have seen it – they know what I have done – let them tell Alfred.” He looks at Leofric with a sad smile. “I need to see my son.”

Leofric shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re a turd. A ball bag.”

They share a look.

“Is that the best you can do?” Uhtred teases, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Nipple?" Leofric suggests, as though he's not even trying. A look to Uhtred, who raises an eyebrow in consideration, and perhaps acquiescence.

“I’m free to leave now then?” Uhtred asks eventually.

“You don’t belong to Odda, there’s nothing to keep you here,” Leofric says, voice tinged with bitterness, and perhaps a hint of sadness.

Uhtred hears it and looks at him in question, but Leofric’s face does not betray his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Even though it has only been scant hours since they saw each other last, so much has changed.

Leofric sits down at Uhtred’s table, completely disregarding the fact he has company, and that that company is not his wife. “How are your knees?” he asks, with the trace of a smirk.

“I can't laugh about it," Uhtred says sombrely, petulantly. Leofric schools his face into seriousness as Uhtred continues, “There’s no justice here, only the Church.”

“You knew that,” Leofric says, filling a beaker with mead.

“I hear you’re Young Odda’s man now,” Uhtred throws back.

“I’m passed from father to son, yes,” Leofric says seriously. Uhtred presses his lips together in a gesture of apology. “Like the land.”

“I cannot stay in Wessex,” Uhtred asserts.

“You have a wife, a child you could not wait to see.” It is because of his desperation they got into this whole sorry mess – _he_ got into this mess, Leofric mentally amends. “Where would you go?” he asks, looking down at the table, and trying not to sound hopeless.

Uhtred shrugs with his eyebrows.

Leofric smirks down at the table. “Odda is afraid that you will kill him.”

“Tell him I might,” Uhtred returns. “Tell him each night before he goes to bed.”

Leofric laughs into his drink.

“I need to find wealth, but here it’s impossible,” Uhtred says, continuing their earlier conversation as though they had never left the subject. “The Danes – they would see it and take it.”

Leofric looks at him. “Then that is what we do,” he says decisively. Uhtred looks at him, a question in his eyes. “We become Danes and we plunder. Men will follow you,” Leofric asserts. “Those men we have schooled, others who were at Cynuit – they will follow you.”

Uhtred finally shifts the woman from his knee. He leans across the table towards Leofric. “You’re saying that we raid?”

“We find wealth and we take it.”

“Here in Wessex?”

Leofric shakes his head. “No, you do not shit at your own table. Cornwalum – we take it from the Britons.” Leofric can tell Uhtred is torn. “Do not say yes – not yet. Think,” he says, tapping his head. “I’ll do the same. But why should Odda be rewarded and not us?”

He downs his drink, silently excuses himself for a moment.

 

* * *

 

He returns with another flagon, offering it to Uhtred first, before topping up his own beaker.

Uhtred catches sight of Aethelwold across the room when he looks up. He inclines his head towards the disgraced boy. “Why did he do that today?” he asks of Leofric.  
  
“Honestly? I’m not sure,” Leofric admits. “An innate desire to show-off perhaps? He spared you from total humiliation though, just be thankful for that at the moment.”

Uhtred nods, his eyes locked with Leofric’s in silent contemplation. Something shifts in Leofric’s expression at the prolonged gaze.

He takes a chance, leaning forwards across the table. “Did you enjoy seeing me on my knees?”

Leofric responds in turn, moving his head closer so that there is the barest of gaps between them. “Very much,” he admits quietly.

Uhtred notes the roughness in his voice, and dares. “Do you want me on my knees in front of you?”

He sees the answer first in the darkening of his eyes; the rising flush up his neck.

“If you would not find it humiliating,” Leofric replies, heart in his throat.

“It is not humiliating if we both want it.”

“Do you?” he manages, voice nearly breaking with the effort of speaking so low.

Uhtred holds his gaze for what feels like the longest time, then nods.

Leofric downs the last of his mead, managing not to choke on the large gulp, eyes wide and pupils blown. “My chambers,” he says, in a voice brooking no argument. “Now.”

 


	4. Episode 6 (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! I've split this episode into two parts because it was getting longer and longer, and I really wanted to post.

It is with no small amount of relief that Uhtred welcomes Leofric to his estate. It has only been a couple of days since they were last together, but there has been no end to the angst over that time; oppressive silences broken only by outbursts of anger.

Uhtred is lurking in the stable when Leofric arrives, but calls out to him before he can head towards the house. Leofric ropes up his horse before joining him, squinting as he moves from the brightness of the courtyard and into the shade.

“Alright arseling?” Leofric says by way of greeting.

Uhtred shakes his head. “I killed Oswald,” he replies bluntly. Leofric looks at him in disbelief and shock at the abrupt admission. “He’s been stealing from me – taking timber from the woodland and pocketing the profit!” His voice raises with righteous anger.

Leofric is uncertain about the merits of killing the man, but has to admit he never liked him. During the months immediately after Uhtred’s marriage to Mildrith, they had spent plenty of time with all the villagers, and there had been something in the way Oswald had eyed Uhtred when his back was turned that had set Leofric on edge. He had said nothing at the time, but kept a close eye out.  Suddenly the man's wariness of his master makes sense. He tells Uhtred as much.

“Bastard,” is all he says in response. Leofric has to agree. “Did anyone question your leaving?” Uhtred asks, steering the conversation onto the reason for Leofric’s presence.

Leofric shakes his head. “It makes sense for Alfred to keep watch on you. No one would be surprised to learn that I am his eyes.”

“I’m not sure he’d want to see some of the things you have,” Uhtred points out. They exchange a smirk.

“He certainly wouldn’t want to see what we’re about to do,” Leofric says, sobering.

There’s a pause, and Uhtred returns to brushing his horse.

“You’re certain you want to do this arseling?” Leofric asks. Clearly is he already preparing to leave, but the question needs to be asked.

“Is there a law against it?” Uhtred shoots back, sounding sullen – he already knows the answer.

Leofric pokes around in the heap of materials next to him, realising what they are. He does not ask how Uhtred came by them. “Dressing up as Danes, no,” Leofric replies, holding up a round shield. “Plundering Cornwalum, yes. We’re supposed to be at peace.” He tries to forget the fact that it was his suggestion in the first place.

“If I’m to reclaim Bebbanburg I’ll need an army. In order to raise an army, I’ll need silver,” Uhtred says, repeating his argument from the other night. He looks at Leofric, his face set. “We go.”

Leofric smirks. “I have no quarrel.”

“Will Odda not miss you?” Uhtred returns. There’s a smirk playing at his lips which accompanies the jibe.

“I’m doing as he asks – I’m watching you,” Leofric replies, looking pleased with himself at his way around Odda’s orders. His smile is soft, but Uhtred has already looked away. “He’s building Alfred a church at Cynuit, have you heard?” His voice is gentle, treading carefully. “With an altar of gold they say.”

But Uhtred is no longer listening; looking past him, out into the courtyard.

Leofric follows his line of sight. “Who are they?”

“They belong to Oswald. Their mother sends them, hoping to shame me for killing their lying, thieving father,” he spits, throwing something at them.

“I see her plan is working,” Leofric quips gruffly.

“They’re not the first to lose a parent. They’ll live.” Leofric says nothing, but can sense the deep pain in Uhtred’s words as he follows him past the huddled children.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is a tense affair.

Uhtred and Mildrith do not look at each other for long periods of time, and when they do it is only to glower at their spouse.

“The food is good Mildrith, thank you,” Leofric says eventually, in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence.

She spares him a brief glance, still pushing hers around with the spoon. “Pleased you like it.”

Uhtred looks up at her. “I was beginning to believe you’d lost your tongue wife,” he jibes. “I was worried.”

“I doubt it,” Mildrith retorts.

“She grieves for the thief,” Uhtred tells Leofric, his voice dripping with dislike. Leofric had figured as much.

“Not my business,” he says, continuing to eat and ignore the bickering couple. It is not his place to interfere with this – even after everything that has happened between them.

“He kills a man I have known all my life, he refuses to pay wergild to a family I’ve known all my life and the village my father helped build now call him ‘Uhtred the Godless’,” Mildrith says angrily, her first words directed at Leofric despite his refusal to take sides. After all, he likes Mildrith, but he could never do anything other than side with Uhtred.

“Not forgetting that I refused to have my son baptised a Christian,” Uhtred taunts.

“I will excuse myself,” Leofric says, standing up, and finally this breaks Uhtred out of his anger, turning to him instead.

“Leofric sit, please.”

“None of this is my business,” Leofric asserts again, voice strained. It is not the time to mention it, but this is the first time Uhtred has called him by his first name.

Uhtred looks at him almost pleadingly. His eyes show no sign that he is aware of his slip of the tongue. “I’ll stop.”

Leofric looks from him to Mildrith uncomfortably before sitting down again. He glances at Uhtred in the extended silence, almost wishing for Uhtred to return his look so that he might find something familiar; something to explain why Uhtred still wants him here.

“Tomorrow I’ll be gone,” Uhtred announces, and Leofric has his answer. He looks to Mildrith, to judge whether she has any suspicions, but she seems surprised.

“Gone?”

“Should anyone ask; we’re keeping Alfred’s kingdom safe. Again.”

“For how long will you be gone, and gone where?” she asks, a hint of hysteria setting in.

“No idea how long. Weeks?” Uhtred asks, directing the rhetorical question at Leofric.

“Your place is here. Oswald’s wife has gone to Bishop Alewold, the Bishop will go to Alfred and Alfred will send men to our doorstep.” Mildrith’s voice rises steadily with each word.

“I won’t pay a penny!” Uhtred shouts. “And if men do come calling that’s what you’ll tell them. He was killed because he was a thief, that’s my law!”

“Leave me and I’ll go directly to the Church and have our son blessed,” Mildrith threatens.

“Then he won’t be my son.”

Mildrith chokes back a sob. “May God forgive you for saying such a thing.”

“Which God?” Uhtred is being deliberately obtuse.

“What has happened to you?” Mildrith asks, voice pained. “What has happened to the kindness, and perhaps even the love you have shown me?”

“I was made to crawl!” Uhtred shouts.

“Yes, before God – we all fall to our knees before God!” Mildrith matches his anger.

Leofric shifts uncomfortably, unable even to look at Uhtred in his anger, in the pain of his words that seem to cut like a barb.

“I won’t forget what Alfred did to me in the name of his God. I reject that God!”

Leofric places his bowl down loudly enough to interrupt and get a word in. “I will excuse myself,” he says decidedly, getting up and exiting as quickly as he can. He cannot quite explain his need to escape; just knows that the feeling is choking him.

Neither Mildrith nor Uhtred pay him any attention.

 

* * *

 

Leofric has nearly finished the bread that he’d taken with him, when Uhtred joins him in the stable. The last of the light is quickly fading, and his expression is cast in shadow, unreadable. Leofric says nothing, unable to gauge Uhtred’s mood.

He sits down heavily on the hay bale next to Leofric.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Uhtred supplies after a while.

Leofric offers him the last bit of the bread in acceptance of the apology. “You wouldn’t let me leave,” he points out, but there’s the trace of a smirk on his face when Uhtred glances at him.

Uhtred dips his head in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t realise things were so bad between you,” Leofric says after a pause.

“People change,” Uhtred replies simply, and Leofric cannot gauge the tone of his voice. “Mildrith and I disagreed before that night.” He cannot bring himself to explicitly mention the humiliating event; does not want the anger to return. He knows that Leofric will understand what he is referring to.

Leofric sets the plate down on the floor, unable to look at Uhtred. “So you did it out of defiance then? To her, to her God?” Leofric asks harshly.

“No!” Uhtred hastily backpedals, realising his mistake, and the path Leofric’s thoughts have taken in misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean – not like that.” Leofric still isn’t looking at him. “I was angry, yes. At Alfred, at my wife, at their precious God. But not at you.”

Finally, Leofric looks at him, eyebrow raising in mock-disbelief. “You have changed then,” he quips.

Uhtred’s mouth quirks. “I can’t recall ever being angry with you,” he admits. “But I have changed – because I wanted to.”

He takes a chance, hoping that Leofric is no longer angry with him, and reaches out. Leofric does not move away at the contact, but does stare at Uhtred’s hand on his thigh, as though trying to pin it there.

“So you don’t regret it then?” he asks, then looks surprised, as though the words have torn themselves out of his throat without his permission.

Uhtred manages to suppress a smile, knowing that it won’t help Leofric’s embarrassment. “No,” he says simply, unable to find the words to voice his feelings any further; they aren’t that sort of people anyway, which is why the question had been so surprising in the first place.

His answer seems to appease Leofric at any rate. He finally allows himself to take his eyes off Uhtred’s hand; leaves it resting there like it belongs.

“The men are arriving at first light,” he says after a while. “We should get some sleep.”

Uhtred smirks at him.

“Apart,” Leofric clarifies, grinning in exasperation. “I don’t want to give your wife a reason to be angry with me as well.”

 

* * *

 

“Uhtred!” Leofric shouts. He does not wish to hurry him, but everyone is ready to leave, and for a man who argued with his wife only the night before, Uhtred is taking a long time to say goodbye to her.

At his continued absence, Leofric tries again. It seems even the use of his name is not enough to break Uhtred away, so Leofric reverts to the familiar “Arseling!” He doesn’t bother hiding the amusement on his face when Uhtred appears shortly afterwards.

Uhtred’s face is like thunder. “Did you hump her goodbye arseling?” Leofric tries as a joke, but Uhtred only mounts his horse and turns to set off.

“I want to have left Wessex by tonight,” is all he says. He catches Leofric’s eye before he rides off.

“You’re gonna have to ride faster than that arseling,” Leofric calls out as he follows.

 

* * *

 

They find a place to camp in the dense woodland just before the border.

The men begin to unpack, taking an interest in the Viking wear and debating who will wear what.

“No one is to wear these ‘til we have crossed into Cornwalum,” Leofric orders, stalking past the excitable men.

Uhtred smirks. “What you can do is polish them, so that when you do wear them they’ll be seen clearly, and you will be feared.” Leofric can see the excited gleam in his eyes as he smiles. “You’re going to find out what’s it’s like to be Dane.”

Leofric suddenly pauses. He does not remember any of their men wearing a cloak earlier. “Every man stand where he is. No one move,” he commands. Even Uhtred obeys. “You! Stay where you are! Do I know you?” He draws his sword, pointing it at the stranger among them. “Lower your hood. I said lower your hood!”

The stranger turns to flee and Leofric follows. They both stumble through the muddy and marshy ground, but Leofric is steadily gaining on the intruder. Suddenly they’re almost waist-deep in water, and this proves too much for the stranger, who falls, grabbing onto a tree to steady himself.

Leofric stops as the man’s hood comes off, revealing his identity.

Uhtred has followed them as far as the bank. “Aethelwold!” he cries in relief.

“I, I – I merely want to come with you,” the boy says, hands up in a shaky gesture of peace, “to be part of your adventure. I wanted it to be a surprise!” He claps his hands enthusiastically with an excited grin, hoping to dispel the fury still on Leofric’s face.

Leofric looks to Uhtred in warning. To his annoyance Uhtred is smiling as he looks at Aethelwold. “He cannot be here. He cannot hold his tongue. I say we kill him.” There is no joy in the words, only a need for survival; and they will surely die if anyone finds out about what they are doing.

“Kill me?” Aethelwold laughs nervously. “Y–You can’t kill me, I’m the rightful King you fool.”

Leofric snaps, and charges towards him once again.

“Not here, Leofric!” Uhtred calls, as Aethelwold uselessly endeavours to hide behind a tree. “Not in Wessex!”

“Then I will drag him into Cornwalum!” Leofric shouts back, face contorted with rage. He has stopped in his pursuit though, enough to look back at Uhtred briefly.

“Not now!” Uhtred commands.

“You can’t! Uhtred, you owe me a favour, I call it in now!” Aethelwold pleads.

Leofric looks from Aethelwold to Uhtred in desperation, gesturing angrily with his sword. “If Alfred hears of Christians raiding Cornwalum we will all be killed. _He_ guarantees that outcome.”

“Leofric, I am a changed man I swear,” Aethelwold implores.

Leofric gives Uhtred a final pleading glance. “We kill him. He will not be missed.”

Uhtred pauses, looking almost apologetic, but also firm. He will not change his mind. “We take him with us.” He says it only to Leofric, but loud enough for his voice to carry.

Leofric turns his face skyward with a roll of his eyes.

“I owe him,” Uhtred explains. “He’s my responsibility.”

Leofric walks back to the bank. He will not disobey Uhtred, no matter how much he disagrees with him.

“He has my protection,” Uhtred says as he approaches, as though he does not realise the extent to which Leofric will obey him.

“And who will protect the rest of us?” Leofric says, voice quiet with anger.

He walks past Uhtred without another glance.

 

* * *

 

They reunite in the firelight that evening.

Leofric’s decision of whether to hold on to his anger at Uhtred is taken away from him the moment they make eye contact.

Uhtred fails to suppress his smirk at the expression on Leofric’s face when he realises the only available place left to sit is next to Aethelwold, and notices the war paint on the boy’s face with no small amount of amusement. He proceeds to sit down on the furthest end of the log he can possibly manage without falling off the end of it.

Uhtred passes him his beaker; reckoning that Leofric hasn’t had a drink since they stopped to make camp.

“What do you know of Cornwalum?” Aethelwold asks, with the air of someone who knows, rather than asking to find out.

“That it’s not Wessex,” Uhtred replies. _And that it has silver_.

“The Wessex–Cornwalum border is this river, the Tamar river,” Aethelwold explains, drawing in the soil in demonstration.

Leofric looks exasperated. “Which is why we are camped here.” He resents the tone and implication of the boy’s words.

Aethelwold just grins at him, surprisingly calm considering Leofric wanted to kill him only a couple of hours ago. He continues, “It flows north to south, and Cornwalum itself has a coastline shaped like a leg.”

“So they’re traders?” Uhtred asks, sounding interested.

“Yes.” Aethelwold continues his drawing. “On the north coast to the Welsh kingdom and Ireland, and on the south, to the Francs.”

“How do you know this?” Leofric questions.

“I’m an educated man Leofric,” Aethelwold says, with smug grin. “I simply enjoy hiding the fact.”

“You do it well,” Leofric deadpans, reaching across him to pass the beaker back to Uhtred. He sees the smile in Uhtred’s eyes.

“Do they have a King?” Uhtred asks.

“More than one.”

It makes sense to use Aethelwold’s knowledge, even though he might not like the fact, so Leofric joins in. “Fierce fighters?”

“Have no fear Leofric,” Aethelwold smiles. “We are Danes.”

Leofric rolls his eyes in a mixture of annoyance and amusement at his arrogance. He glances at Uhtred, who grins back at him, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. Leofric wonders when he started noticing these things; and worse, when they started having an effect on him. He suspects it’s longer than he wants to admit.

“I want to be bloodied in battle,” Aethelwold proclaims, breaking the moment.

Leofric laughs. “Don’t worry boy, you’ll be first in line.”

“I look forward to it.”

 

* * *

 

“He thinks he’s invincible,” Leofric gripes later, “now that he has your protection.” The emphasis is intended to mock Uhtred’s earlier comment, but he cannot resist softening the words with a cheeky smile.

“Wise boy,” Uhtred returns with a grin.

“Yes,” Leofric replies, dragging out the syllable. “Who knew?” They share a further smile.

“Do you think they will be fierce warriors?” Uhtred asks, repeating Leofric’s earlier question. Perhaps Aethelwold hadn’t replied because he didn’t know the answer. A sword speaks in a different language to a book.

Leofric shrugs. “I know it would be unwise to underestimate them,” is all he says.

“I’ll take first watch,” Uhtred decides.

Leofric nods. “I’ll join you.”

“There’s no need, I can manage.” It comes out harsher than he intended. “You should get some rest,” he adds, softer this time.

“I’ll rest when we’re back in familiar territory,” Leofric replies. “I’m staying.”

“You just want to keep your eye on Aethelwold,” Uhtred teases.

“If you’re not careful I’ll make him watch with you instead,” Leofric smirks. “After all, he is under your protection.”

“I take back what I said yesterday,” Uhtred deadpans. “I do recall being angry with you… It was about five seconds ago.”

Leofric punches him lightly on the arm.

The men are bedding down around them, so Uhtred moves to extinguish the final fire.

“Leofric and I will take first watch,” Uhtred announces, to the relief of many.

Only Aethelwold looks at them in surprise, having expected to be forced into it in further penance. He continues to watch, even as they turn away; Leofric says something further to Uhtred before he sets off to do a final sweep of their surroundings.

Uhtred watches him until he disappears into the darkness. He turns to find Aethelwold still looking at him.

“Get some rest while you can,” Uhtred tells him. “You’ll take second watch.”

 

* * *

 

The air around them is still and quiet; a peace they have rarely known.

They sit close, under the pretence that they must speak quietly so as not to wake the men. In truth, they don’t need the pretence with each other, but if the way their shoulders brush says anything, it’s that they both know it.

Uhtred stretches a leg out, laying it flat on the ground, resting against the length of Leofric’s. Judging by the way he nudges Leofric’s thigh with his knee, the movement is deliberate. He is not looking at Leofric, instead focused on their limbs, as though they are dancing a dance that they themselves cannot.

Leofric does not look at Uhtred either, as if afraid to break the spell, but his mouth disobeys him. “When you return to Bebbanburg, where will you find your army?”

To his relief, his words do not seem to break Uhtred out of his trance, indeed he only nudges Leofric’s thigh again before replying. “Once Alfred’s battle is won, I will ride with any men wishing to join me. I can promise them fighting and, if our mission here is successful, silver. Once I have reclaimed my birthright, they may stay if they wish.” He punctuates his final words by looking at Leofric; the meaning is not lost.

The weight of Uhtred’s gaze holds Leofric in place. His throat feels heavy; he tries and fails to find the words. He cannot pretend, even in this dream-like state, shrouded by darkness and trees, that he might be able to join Uhtred, no matter how much he might wish it – desire it.

Perhaps Uhtred understands this internal battle, because he says quietly, “Of course, I’m still holding on to the hope that Young Odda will not survive the battles to come.” It is an allowance—a small chink of light in the darkness—that they might still have that future together.

“It is a hope, certainly,” Leofric replies. It is as close to agreeing as he can get without disobeying Odda entirely; if any of the men heard and fed back, it would surely not end well.

As it is, no man stirs except for Uhtred, a small smile briefly flitting across his face. He understands it is a hope they both share.

 


	5. Episode 6 (Part 2)

They approach the River Tamar at a slow trot, stopping on a hill overlooking their crossing. There is no turning back now; not now they’ve seen the land of wealth awaiting them.

“All crucifixes and crosses,” Uhtred commands. “You are God-fearing Christians no more.” Leofric looks across at him; sees the satisfied smile on his face. “You are Danes now. Pagans! You don’t cross yourself nor look to the heavens.”

Leofric puts on his helmet. He catches Uhtred looking, amusement evident, so he sticks his tongue out at him with a half-smirk. Uhtred laughs.

“Let’s make ourselves rich!” he shouts to the welcoming sound of loud cheers.

They ride off at speed, and cross into Cornwalum.

 

* * *

 

The days have been long, fruitless, and the men are beginning to become disillusioned; even Uhtred is losing hope.

“These people have nothing,” he growls, stalking out of yet another empty house, in yet another empty village. Leofric looks to him, letting go of the man he had been pinning down in threat. “Five days, and nothing.” Uhtred sounds defeated.

“There is time yet,” Leofric says imploringly.

“We’re not the first Danes they’ve seen. I  _need_ silver,” Uhtred stresses.

“So we keep looking.”

“And what if the whole of Cornwalum has been sacked already?” There is a hint of anger in his voice, but Leofric puts it down to frustration.

“We keep looking, we keep heading west.” Leofric’s eyes are soft, even though Uhtred’s are hard.

He lets out a breath, anger deflating. “Fine,” he says, giving Leofric a grateful smile.

 

* * *

 

The sun is steadily beginning to set, orange giving way to pink. Progress is slow, but there is no safe place to camp, so, weary as they are, they continue.

Then, a group of men ride over the crest of the hill, moving towards them across the barren landscape. They draw silently to a stop, and the newcomers do the same.

Leofric follows as Uhtred moves forwards.

One of the men dismounts and approaches. “I am Brother Asser,” he greets. “I bring you a gift from my King. From King Peredur.”

Uhtred looks to Leofric throughout the negotiation; even though he is leading this quest, Leofric’s opinion still matters to him. Leofric only needs to nod, and the deal is made.

 

* * *

 

They are made to dismount from their horses outside the town. Most of the men remain there too, with only a few following Uhtred, Leofric and Aethelwold into the town.

Leofric refuses to leave Uhtred’s side as they approach Peredur’s hall; even though the villagers seem harmless, their eyes are filled with distrust, and it pays to be careful.

They enter Peredur’s hall, and barely manage to hold in their surprise at the sight before them.

Uhtred half-way turns to Leofric. “Winchester it is not,” he deadpans.

“Alfred he is not,” Leofric returns quietly, standing close to Uhtred, and eyeing Peredur warily.

 

* * *

 

“I will call for Queen Iseult,” Peredur says.

“My Lord, perhaps instead, you should take a moment and pray for —” Asser tries instead.

The King leans back in his chair, eyes closed. “Iseult!” he shouts suddenly. “You are needed!”

Uhtred looks round at Leofric in surprise.

Then Iseult appears.

“I am blessed with two wives,” Peredur says, almost as if gloating. “Two Queens. Iseult is a shadow queen.”

Uhtred looks at her, his eyes fascinated.

She descends the steps until she is directly in front of Uhtred. When finally she looks at him, he stands stock-still, entranced.

“Who are you? And what will you do for the King?” Iseult asks. It is as if she is prising the answer out of his very soul.

“I’m Uhtred Ragnarsson. I’m here to fight for your King.” The words seem to tear themselves from him of their own volition. “If he pays me what I want,” he adds, sounding more in control.

Leofric watches as Iseult moves even closer, eyes raking over Uhtred’s face. He cannot see Uhtred’s expression, but the man puts up no defence as Iseult reaches out and touches his temple with smooth, stroking fingers. Leofric grinds his teeth at the white hot burn in his chest.

Eventually, Iseult steps back, and walks back to Peredur’s side. “He is the one,” Iseult says, looking back at Uhtred. Then she turns and is gone.

 

* * *

 

Deal made, they exit the hall, Leofric walking next to Aethelwold.

“Call the men up,” he commands. “We stay here.”

Aethelwold looks back, sees Uhtred behind them, and hurries off. If Leofric didn’t know better, he might assume he was leaving them in peace, but this is Aethelwold, so it seems unlikely.

Once more alone, Leofric permits Uhtred a smile. Uhtred returns it.

“I’ll dream about that Shadow Queen,” he says hungrily.

“You told her your name,” Leofric says, “and word travels.” He knows by rights he should be angrier, but he can’t bring himself to be when Uhtred is looking at him like that; all soft smugness.

“Uhtred Ragnarsson,” a voice says, and they both turn. It is Asser.

 _You brought this on yourself_ , Leofric thinks, walking away pointedly. Uhtred rolls his eyes.

“I noticed you have some Saxons amongst your ranks,” Asser says, his eyes following Leofric as he departs.

“Some, from Mercia,” Uhtred says. “They’d rather fight than work in the fields, the pay’s better.” He tries not to analyse too closely the fact that he has used Leofric’s backstory to furnish his lie.

 

* * *

 

“Uhtred,” Leofric says in warning, looking towards the Danes approaching them from the fort. His voice curls around the name.

Uhtred turns to see one of the men approaching on foot, flanked by two others. “He’s a sword-Dane,” he says. “A Lord of War.”

Leofric does not know what this means, but by the tone of Uhtred’s voice, it is not a good thing.

“If the Lord of War wants to talk, may I suggest we listen?” Aethelwold says.

Uhtred and Leofric dismount at the same time, and advance together towards the oncomers.

Leofric stops a little behind Uhtred, making it clear that he is in charge. There is a period of wary and assessing silence where they all just look at each other.

“Name yourself,” the Lord of War says.

“I’m Uhtred Ragnarsson. Who are you?”

“Skorpa, of the White Horse,” he grins.

Leofric watches their exchange carefully, hand on his sword, ready to protect Uhtred at all costs.

“He must have something,” Uhtred is saying, and half-turns to Leofric. “Somewhere.”

“Whatever he has I say we split. Half and half. We kill his men, we spare the King, he takes us to his wealth,” Skorpa says.

Uhtred turns fully to look at Leofric. “Half and half?” he inquires.

Leofric says nothing, but gives a slight inclination of the head which is answer enough.

Uhtred turns back to Skorpa.

“I will advance, you will turn and we will attack together,” Skorpa says. “Now, this is for the benefit of the King.” He punches Uhtred in the face with no further warning.

Leofric cannot help the brief jolt of anger; even though he knows it is only an act, the pain he feels is very real.

“You bastard piece of rassragr!” Skorpa shouts. “I will destroy you!”

Then they turn and head their separate ways.

“Be ready, we kill them all! Every last one of them dies,” Uhtred shouts, before lowering his voice for Leofric’s benefit. “Tell the men we are with the Danes.”

“You trust this Skorpa?” Leofric asks as the war cries ring out.

“I’ve no choice but to trust him,” Uhtred admits.

 

* * *

 

“How do we do this?” Leofric asks as the men pull a chest of silver from the floor. Uhtred is once again by his side. “How do we share?”

But Skorpa has taken advantage of Uhtred’s eagerness to get to the silver, and is holding a sword to Iseult’s throat. “We don’t share.”

His men advance, pointing their swords at Uhtred and Leofric’s necks.

“Oh, we can fight,” Skorpa grins, “and some of us will die, including your Queen.”

Uhtred takes his hand off his sword.

Skorpa’s men take the chest out of the hall. Uhtred and Leofric move closer together, both assessing the opportunity to strike now that Skorpa is the only man left.

“Uhtred Ragnarsson, keep your sword in its scabbard,” Iseult commands.

“Wise Queen,” Skorpa grins.

“She stays with me,” Uhtred commands.

“Do nothing!” Iseult commands, as Skorpa walks backwards towards the door with her.

Then, unexpectedly, Skorpa whispers something in Iseult’s ear before pushing her forwards and leaving.

Uhtred rushes forwards after them.

“Uhtred, no!” Leofric cries, following him. “Uhtred!”

“They have our treasure!” Uhtred yells.

“No! I will not fight these Danes for silver.” Uhtred stops at the door, turning back towards Leofric. “For the King, yes, but not for silver.” They are so close to each other, and yet still shouting.

“I am tethered by debts, I need to raise an army and they get away further with every second!”

“I will not allow half of these men or more to die.” Leofric cannot tear his eyes from Uhtred’s, even though this is the first time in a long time that he has looked at him in anger.

“I can give you what you need,” Iseult says. “There’s more silver.”

 

* * *

 

They follow her outside… to a heap of dung and straw. They look at her, then at each other. It is the look on each other’s face that causes them to both start laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

Uhtred once again moves closer to Iseult as the men start digging around.

Leofric looks across at them, and can no longer ignore the way it twists like a dagger in his heart. The pagan queen, or the battle-scarred warrior. It is a choice, but of course, no choice at all. He is almost afraid to look at Uhtred, unsure of what he will see, even as he moves closer to him to admire their plunder. Uhtred is already looking at him when he finally turns. There is nothing different in the way Uhtred looks at him; it’s still as though he’s devouring Leofric’s face with his eyes, the deep, dark brown swirling with unmentionable depth. _Nothing has changed_ , Leofric realises.

“Home?” he asks, and isn’t certain where he means when he says it. He’s known for a long time now that his home is wherever Uhtred is.

“Wessex, and our separate ways.” There is a sadness in Uhtred's voice, and Leofric understands it—in all the time they have known each other, they have been separated too many times, for too many duties, and this time, they don’t know when they might see each other next. “There’s a Bishop I must see,” he adds wryly, holding the cross up.

They grin at each other.

 

* * *

 

They prepare to leave. Uhtred claps Leofric on the shoulder, lingering next to him, as though unwilling to leave his side. It is always as though they have been drawn to each other by some invisible string, and even the appearance of Iseult has not been enough to snap it. ‘ _Til death_ , Leofric thinks fiercely.

“Safe journey,” Uhtred says, as they part ways at the border.

“And you,” Leofric replies. “Let’s hope the Bishop will accept plundered treasure.”

Uhtred returns his smirk, digging his heels into his horse’s flank and riding off.

Neither of them could have prepared themselves for the next time they come face to face.

 

* * *

 

Alfred’s men are waiting for them as the returning raiding party enter the city. Somehow, they’d been expected.

“Where is he?” a loud voice exclaims. It’s Young Odda. “Where’s Uhtred?”

The men say nothing, but then Odda spots Leofric, and he knows it’s over.

“Where is Uhtred?” he asks.

“He has returned to his estate,” Leofric says, sensing that there is no point in claiming that this is anything other than what it looks like.

“He will be summoned before the Witan,” Odda takes great pleasure in telling him. “And you – you will remain in the cells until such time as he arrives to meet his fate.”

The silver is spirited away, and Leofric is dragged to the cells.

 

* * *

 

It seems like a lifetime, deprived of sunlight and in a cramped cell. Leofric does not know how many days have passed, but is unsurprised by the length of time; after all, they are waiting for Uhtred’s return, and he will purposefully not be speedy in answering a call from the King.

Instead, it gives Leofric the chance to plan—plan how to stop the trial reaching its inevitable conclusion.

Odda wants Uhtred dead, and Leofric can guarantee he will ensure that it is as slow and painful as possible.

He must be stopped, no matter the cost.

 

* * *

 

Leofric stands before the heavy oak doors, waiting and waiting to be led in. He fears what Uhtred might be facing in there, whilst he is held out here.

“Bring in the prisoner.” The words ring harsh, but it is finally time to face up to this.

Uhtred turns and Leofric can see on his face that he cannot believe it. He gives him a rueful glance as the guards lead him forwards.

“What is this?” Uhtred asks of him as he moves closer.

“Odda means for you to die as a traitor,” Leofric tells him, hand on his arm, gripping just above the elbow.

“You will stand separate,” Odda commands. Uhtred glances towards him.

“And you will die,” Leofric continues, causing Uhtred to look back at him in horror. It nearly breaks him apart, but he knows he has to do this. “If it is Valhalla you want, I will do my best to give it.” Uhtred’s eyes flick to his lips, back to his eyes.

Leofric’s eyes do not leave Uhtred’s, unable to tear his gaze away in case this is the last time that they will ever look at each other with softness again. He knows he runs the risk of Uhtred never looking at him again in anything but anger, until he looks at him no more.

“I said you will stand separate,” Odda commands once more. It is by sheer force of will that Leofric moves away. “Leofric, you have sworn your oath, and you will tell the truth.”

He can feel Uhtred’s eyes on him, but cannot turn. He has to do this. “I will, Lord.”

“God is merciful. You're a man of Wessex and have been loyal to the King?”

“I am loyal to the King, Lord. Always.”

“Were you in Cornwalum with the Ealdorman Uhtred?”

“I was.” The words are ash on his tongue.

“Did you kill and plunder Peredur and his Britons?”

“I did.”

“Leofric, have you now donated your share of the plunder to the church?”

He knows that Uhtred is looking at him in disbelief, can feel his eyes like daggers, but dares not allow his own eyes to flicker to him. “I have, Lord, and have begged forgiveness.”

“Whom did you follow into battle?” Odda is looking directly at Uhtred.

“I went willingly, Lord.” Every word is a struggle, a desperate attempt not to condemn Uhtred.

Odda is not having it. “No, Uhtred led, you followed. He is the Ealdorman, and he is to blame!”

“I share the blame, Lord.”

“No, he is responsible!” Odda is irate now, and there is no reasoning to be done.

“Irresponsible!” Aelswith agrees, fuelling the fire.

“And he will pay for it with his life!”

Leofric hears Beocca speak from somewhere behind him, urging Uhtred to beg.

“No, I will not beg!” Uhtred shouts, enraged. “I will fall to my knees for no man, no King, and no Christian God!” A man seizes him from behind, his sword biting into Uhtred’s skin.

The combination of the imminent danger and Uhtred’s cutting words spur Leofric into action. “Lord, if I may make a plea to the King and the Witan.”

“I have not yet finished!” Odda cries.

“I beg your pardon, Lord, but if I may,” the desperation in his voice is thinly veiled. Thankfully, Alfred nods. “It is clear that, like me, the arseling here is guilty –”

“Thank you, my friend,” Uhtred shoots at him. The man holding him tightens his grip, making Uhtred grunt with pain. Leofric cannot prevent a brief glance at him, the man whose trust he now must break. The man who at last has confirmed that he is his friend.

“It is also clear that he is too proud and too stupid to repent, and as a consequence will die.” Leofric does not blame Uhtred in the least bit for not falling to his knees in repentance, but cannot let that show.

“He will die for leading men to treachery,” Odda points out, but Leofric continues as though he has not heard.

“Because of my own guilt, and because of my respect for Uhtred as a warrior, I request that he dies at my sword.”

Except it’s not just that he wants to fight Uhtred out of respect for him as a warrior, it’s that he doesn’t trust Uhtred’s life to anyone but himself, and he certainly doesn’t trust his death to anyone else. He couldn’t trust anyone else to give Uhtred a sure and quick death, with as little suffering as possible, when it comes to it.

“You wish to become executioner, Leofric?” Alfred asks.

Executioner is too cruel a word for what this is; fine if Alfred and the rest of his council wants to think of it like that, but as long as Uhtred knows why he’s doing this. As long as Uhtred understands that he is trying to take the control off Odda in the only way he knows how. This isn’t an act of execution, but one of loyalty, respect and love. Odda will not harm Uhtred; that is the only thing Leofric can give him now.

Leofric chances a look at Uhtred. His face is not showing understanding; he’s more incredulous, perhaps even betrayed. _Trust me Uhtred_ , he thinks fiercely. _This is not betrayal_.

“My plea is for a fight to the death, Lord – me against the arseling. If God is with me, I will be the victor and the Ealdorman is allowed to die as a warrior should.”

Uhtred is still, says nothing, and Leofric knows it is over.

“And if he should win this fight to the death, what then?” It sounds as though Alfred is actually considering it.

“He will not,” Leofric assures, “it would take God's intervention for him to beat me.”

If this doesn’t work – if Alfred doesn’t listen – he has nothing left to give, no further plan. It had taken him days to realise that it truly is the only option; the only way Uhtred stands even half a chance of a fitting death. And die he will of course, there’s no escaping that. If Leofric fails to finish this, Odda will. The outcome is predetermined, which cannot make it easy for Uhtred to accept, but it is the only way. This is his final act of protection.

To Leofric’s surprise, Aethelwold chips in. “Let them fight, Lord. Let God decide.”

“Lord, Lord, it is clear that the guilt lies with Uhtred,” Odda tries as the court cries out.

Alfred holds up a hand to silence them.

“Leofric, you have spoken well, and your request is granted.” The man releases Uhtred, who gasps for breath. “You will fight tomorrow to the death, swords and shields. God shall determine the victor.”

There is no relief, only dread of what is to come. Uhtred looks at him, shock and pain all clear on his face, as though he cannot believe his friend could do this. Leofric prays he gets chance to explain himself, to say goodbye before it’s all over. He returns his look, and hopes Uhtred can see the apology there.

_By ending you, I will be ending me._

 


	6. Episode 7

Leofric approaches the tavern with sure steps. He has been released from his chains and allowed to spend the evening as he wishes. Of course he would choose to spend his last night of freedom with Uhtred, whether the man wants to see him or not.

“Is he here?” he asks of Eanflaed, who is standing outside.

It is testament to his and Uhtred’s friendship that she knows who he means. “With a woman who’s not his wife.”

It is Iseult who spots him first, her soulful eyes gazing at Leofric before she turns to Uhtred. “Your friend is here,” she tells him. His eyes remain fixed on the table and beaker in front of him.

Leofric looks first to Iseult, then to Uhtred. “May I sit?” he asks warily. “Or will I spoil the gift of a last night of freedom?”

“Sit,” Uhtred says, but his voice is flat, toneless, and still he does not meet Leofric’s eyes.

Leofric does not take his eyes off him, even as the seconds drag and Uhtred resolutely does not look at him. “Do you believe I have betrayed you, arseling?” The words are difficult to think, never mind say, but Leofric would not blame him for thinking so; the way Uhtred had stormed out of the hall when they had been released, without even so much as a glance at Leofric, had told him as much.

“I don’t,” Uhtred says. He still looks at that damned spot on the table.

“Make no mistake. Odda had twenty men or more ready to swear against you.”

Uhtred nods soberly, as though he is considering the words, but not yet granting Leofric forgiveness.

Leofric leans closer. “I am here to tell you that I am better than you right now. I will kill you. A warrior’s death is all I can give.”

“Forgive me, but I’m trying to forget you’re my friend.”

The words cut deep, and it is with great effort that the extent of Leofric’s pain does not show on his face. Not that it matters—Uhtred is still not looking at him. “As long as you understand,” he murmurs.

He has to accept Uhtred’s dismissive half-nod in response. Leofric glances briefly at Iseult, but she does not look at him. He looks back at Uhtred, yet still he finds fascination in the table. Leofric slumps dejectedly, but there is no point in drawing this out any longer. He stands, and moves away.

With his back turned, Leofric cannot see Uhtred’s eyes snap immediately to him, or sense the words which die on Uhtred’s tongue, unspoken. He does not hear Iseult’s words to Uhtred, instead striding away as fast as he possibly can.

If he has to spend the final night without Uhtred then so be it.

He is resolved, and therefore it is a surprise to hear Uhtred calling his name. “Leofric!” he calls again, desperation in his voice. It stops Leofric in his tracks, bringing him up sharply. He turns slowly, and finds Uhtred has closed the gap between them. “This isn’t a fight I want. I’ve been allowed my freedom tonight and if I could slip away, I would, but I cannot do that. Reputation is all.” He speaks quickly, the words tripping out of him in a rush now that he has begun.

Leofric nods. “I know it.”

“I have feuds to settle, promises to keep. I must live.” Uhtred’s eyes are blown wide, and it is as close to begging as he will come again.

Leofric moves closer, as though drawn by invisible thread. “Then you must kill me,” he says simply.

“And you me.” Uhtred blinks as though in acceptance of that fact.

“I intend to,” Leofric responds flatly. It is the only way he can face it. He breaks eye contact for a moment, blinking away the sudden appearance of tears in his eyes. “I will have the advantage. The king’s wife is praying for me,” he adds, with a touch of mirth. “God loves her.”

He sees an answering twinkle in Uhtred’s eyes. “Someone’s got to,” he deadpans.

Leofric smiles. It warms his heart to see Uhtred back to his old self. “It’s been good to have you as my friend,” he admits, unable to hold in the words. “I’ll make your death quick and painless.” It is the only promise he can give.

“And then hump my queen?” Uhtred smirks.

“And your wife,” Leofric returns.

“But you will be without your balls.”

Leofric huffs a laugh. They smile at each other—genuine, warm, unguarded.

“I will see you tomorrow morning,” Leofric says after what feels like an age.

“You will,” Uhtred replies, his voice a caress.

 

* * *

 

“I’m prepared to resume my debt to save Leofric,” Uhtred says, and means it. If it were not for Iseult, he would accept Alfred’s offer immediately; spare them this fight that will end them both in one way or another. There’s not much joy in living if you’re the one left behind.

 

* * *

 

“It’s no use,” Uhtred says, as he meets Leofric outside the castle. He seems unsurprised to see him there—the one still point amongst the crowds of people flocking down to the yard.

“Was it ever?” Leofric asks. He kicks off the wall—where he had been leaning in wait—and falls into step with Uhtred.

“Not really,” Uhtred confesses. “I couldn’t accept his terms.”

“Why change the habit of a lifetime,” Leofric quips. He does not need to ask what those terms were; they do not matter.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have involved you in this,” Uhtred says.

The apology is a surprise, and Leofric can only respond with a joke. “You should be,” he grins, and is relieved when Uhtred returns it, “you’ve ruined me. I’ll have you know I was a disciplined man before we met.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Uhtred smirks. “You’re still a warrior, but the women, and the drinking…” he trails off with a playful shake of his head. “Nothing new there.”

“Except you,” Leofric says, and there is a weight in the words that cannot be denied. It’s as close to a confession as he will ever get. He is a soldier, and knows duty, and loyalty; has known them all his life. He never expected to find a friend.

 

* * *

 

It is Wulfhere who leads them to the centre of the circle, through the thronging crowds of people who have gathered to witness this fight.

There is no question of who the crowd supports, but Leofric looks away from Uhtred when the people cheer at the mention of his name.

Slowly, they approach the shields, propped up in the middle. Their eyes meet as they reach for the pieces of wood; a couple of inches further and their hands would be touching as well. It is a battle in itself to fight the urge to brush their fingers against each other’s in a final gesture of everything they cannot say.

“Warriors, are you prepared?”

They both glance at Wulfhere.

“I am,” Leofric says, his eyes sliding back to Uhtred’s and finding Uhtred’s already on him.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

They know of nothing but the clash of swords and shields; the feeling of the other’s fists pounding into their skin; the harsh grate of chainmail beneath their fingertips as they grasp and grapple.

And then shouting—louder than the jeering and cheering of the crowd—fearful words and the beginning of screams. “The Danes! The Danes are here! They've breached the city walls! Save yourselves!”

Leofric is first to snap out of the battle haze, grabbing at Uhtred once more. Uhtred jumps away from his grip, as though anticipating further pain.

“The fight is finished, arseling!” Leofric yells over the din, and finally Uhtred realises that they are back to friends once more, and Leofric is not to hurt him again. “Come on, run.”

Uhtred allows Leofric to bundle him up the steps and away from the first wave of the attack. Somehow he manages to find Iseult in the madness, grabbing at her arm to keep her close.

“Leofric, this way!” Uhtred calls, and Leofric follows them.

They escape to a quieter part of the city, but find that Odda and Wulfhere have just taken the last of the horses.

“There’ll be nothing left in the stables but horse shit,” Leofric curses.

“Let’s go this way,” Uhtred says, and Leofric follows easily.

They crouch low, waiting for some Danes to pass before they head for the shelter of a house. Leofric kills a Dane that pounces them from behind; Uhtred returns the favour to one that jumps out at him from a doorway.

The house beyond is quiet. He gestures to Iseult and Leofric and they join him.

“We hide here, wait for nightfall.”

For the moment, they are all alive, and that is something to be grateful for.

 

* * *

 

It is beginning to get dark when there are sounds of commotion below, and they are no longer alone in the house. Leofric and Uhtred shrink further into the shadows of the attic.

Iseult however cannot ignore the screams and prayers of the woman below, and neatly draws a dagger before jumping smoothly to the ground and plunging it into the eye of the Dane.

“Iseult!” Uhtred cries, and jumps down after her. Leofric follows without hesitation.

They kill the remaining Danes swiftly. Iseult holds the shaking nun in the aftermath.

Uhtred takes command once more. “We need to be gone ourselves. Put on a helmet.” He thrusts one at Leofric. “We’re Danes.”

“Again?” Leofric says, thinking how well that turned out last time.

“You will not be leaving me?” The nun’s voice quivers.

“No, we will not,” Iseult reassures her.

Their band of three becomes four.

 

* * *

 

They walk through the streets calmly now, Uhtred and Leofric as Danes, and Iseult and the nun as their prisoners. No one questions them, until—

“Uhtred the Saxon.”

Uhtred and Leofric turn at once, both because of the name, and the voice of the one who spoke it.

“Brida,” Uhtred says, wonder in his voice. He approaches, but she clutches her axe determinedly, and he stops. “What’s this? You mean to do me harm?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Good to see you again, Brida,” Leofric chips in, a smirk on his face.

“Leofric,” she returns curtly. “How did you manage to get such a big head into such a small helmet?”

“It was necessary,” Leofric says, his voice flat. She is no longer an ally.

 

* * *

 

As Brida said, their way out is clear, and even the forest at night is a welcome sight. They make camp once they are far enough away from the city.

“Brida has changed,” Leofric says, his voice soft, breaking the silence that has settled between them. “She was always angry. Now she is nasty.”

“Either she has changed, or I have changed,” Uhtred rasps. He does not meet Leofric’s eyes as he says it.

 

* * *

 

By day they make it to the edge of the Severn, using the grass of the marshland to conceal themselves.

At the water’s edge, people are desperately clambering into boats.

“Priests,” Uhtred says.

“In fear,” Leofric adds.

There is a whinny of a horse, and they turn to see Danes approaching on horseback.

“Time to fight, arseling,” Leofric says, drawing his sword. Uhtred does likewise, and together they run towards the path to head off the oncomers.

Iseult and Hild head for the boats. “Uhtred!” Iseult shouts.

Leofric joins her, pushing out the boat. “Arseling!” he cries, and is relieved when Uhtred joins him almost immediately. “I have your sword,” he pants.

Uhtred turns to see more Danes approaching, but they have pushed the boat out far enough to jump in and begin paddling.

They reach open water just in time.

It is Alfred, not a priest, with them on the boat.

It turns out fate, or perhaps destiny, has caught up with them once again.

 

* * *

 

They find a settlement in the swampland, and take a shelter for themselves. Uhtred removes his armour; Leofric does not—remaining on guard despite the stifling heat and quiet stillness. Life is slow, and they all move around each other comfortably, but barely exchange a word. This world is different to any they have known.

 

* * *

 

Leofric approaches their shelter just as Alfred is stalking away into the marsh. He walks straight up to Uhtred.

“He will become lost, I guarantee it,” Leofric says, before walking in the opposite direction to the departing King.

It is a gentle, yet pointed, hint for Uhtred to follow. If they stand any chance of ever seeing this war over, Uhtred needs to be on the same side as Alfred.

 

* * *

 

Alfred’s boy coughs and cries into the quiet of the night, and it’s not just because of the bitter chill that sweeps through the settlement.

The next morning there is a tension in their shelter that no one can shake.

 

* * *

 

“You and Hild seem friendly,” Uhtred says by way of greeting as he approaches Leofric. They are a little way out of camp.

“Did you invite me here just to say that?” Leofric responds testily.

Uhtred flops down next to Leofric and says nothing.

“Sorry,” Leofric huffs, glancing at Uhtred apologetically. “I’m just tired of this, you know.” He gestures to the vast expanse of marsh before them. “And besides – you and Iseult are friendly,” he says, raising an eyebrow in emphasis, “and you don’t see me going around sulking.”

“What if I want you for myself?” Uhtred asks bluntly. _He must also be sick of this_ , Leofric thinks.

He says nothing, and it’s as close to admitting that Uhtred already has that as he will get.

The look on Uhtred’s face, the sudden darkness of his eyes, tells Leofric that he understands.

 

* * *

 

They go out hunting on the solid ground away from the swamp. It is a welcome relief to see grass and trees; a brief reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the camp.

Uhtred and Leofric exchange smiles more easily here. It is a relief to know they have not lost themselves completely.

 

* * *

 

They watch as Alfred returns to his wife and son, leaving them to their meal alone.

Leofric approaches Uhtred. “If the child dies it will take the fight from Alfred’s bones,” he murmurs, “and we will never save ourselves.”

 

* * *

 

The return of Alfred’s men breaks the fragile calm of the world they have built here, and with it a return to reality. Uhtred wears his armour once more.

Leofric meets him as he returns from the swamp. “You are wet, arseling.”

“I am,” Uhtred pants, “wet, tired, but I have a plan.”

There is a joy in their faces once more, borne no doubt of their imminent return to war, and the familiarity it brings.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred and Leofric lead the men through the swamp, towards Skorpa’s men.

“They need to give chase and they need to believe they can reach us,” Uhtred murmurs, for Leofric’s ears only. “We stand our ground until the very last moment. Then we stay on the safe path”—he turns to look at Leofric—“and let the land half kill them before we attack.”

“And if they do reach us?” Leofric asks.

There is no answer for that. Uhtred looks at Leofric once more. “Ready?”

It’s hardly a question—Leofric would follow Uhtred anywhere.

They move forwards together.

“We stand our ground,” Uhtred says, as the antagonised men run towards them. Leofric tenses, prepared to run as soon as Uhtred gives the command. “Run,” he cries, “run, run, run!”

Their feet pound the muddy ground, the shouts of the Danes behind them in hot pursuit spurring them on.

They split into two groups, each leading the men to the water that Uhtred had found that morning. Their archers are waiting to kill the Danes as soon as they stumble in, up to their midriffs and unable to escape. They finish off any who make it to the edge with their swords.

“Now, for the ships!” Uhtred cries.

 

* * *

 

That evening they stand watching the still-burning boats, the flames rising from the fleet.

“A new horizon, Lord,” Uhtred says proudly, to Alfred. Leofric stands solidly behind him.

“A beacon of hope.”

 


	7. Episode 8

They form a council of sorts in Alfred’s tent.

Uhtred keeps his body angled towards Leofric, and looks to him frequently for support.

 

* * *

 

They are to leave the marshes that afternoon. Leofric helps with preparations, and catches sight of Uhtred talking to Beocca as he walks the boards, fetching and carrying.

When Beocca has departed, no doubt to stay glued to Alfred’s side, Leofric approaches Uhtred.

“Ready to go, arseling?”

“Yeah,” Uhtred says distractedly, his eyes on the retreating back of the priest. “He’s going to try and keep watch on Asser,” he murmurs.

“Good luck to him,” Leofric says bitterly. He has no good feelings towards that man.

“I take it you trust him as much as I do?”

Leofric grunts in agreement. “If he’s staying with us, I’ll be sleeping with one eye open.”

“Me too,” Uhtred agrees. “We can look at each other,” he jokes.

“I think that sort of defeats the point,” Leofric grins, appreciating the sentiment. “We can always take turns in keeping watch.”

“Or do it together,” Uhtred suggests. “Just like the old days.”

It is strange to think – those days were not long ago. They only used to have to watch each other’s backs; now, in only a short space of time, the number of people they care about has doubled. There is more to lose now.

 

* * *

 

They take to the forest for cover as soon as they can after leaving the boats, walking in silence.

Uhtred stops ahead, and then starts approaching slowly, stealthily. Iseult and Alfred drop back, allowing Leofric to catch up to Uhtred. They lean in, close together, looking between the trees.

“Wulfhere and his men,” Leofric says quietly.

They approach together. There is only one person there, and it is not Wulfhere.

“Put that piece of tin away, boy,” Leofric says, slinging his pack down next to Uhtred’s as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 

* * *

 

“What do you think? Really?” Uhtred asks quietly as they crouch in the undergrowth, keeping watch.

“It’s not my place to speculate,” Leofric says, “and that’s all it would be. I can’t speak for anyone but myself.”

He wonders if Uhtred knows what he thinks anyway – Uhtred’s suspicions are written plainly on his face, and Leofric wonders if it reflects in his own eyes.

Alfred joins them, and the conversation ends abruptly.

A group of Danes ride past where they are crouched in the trees.

“We cannot use the Roman roads,” Leofric says, looking to Uhtred.

“We can make our way to my farmstead,” Uhtred replies, catching his eye, “and from there, across covered ground to Odda’s.”

“And that is the safest path, Leofric?” Alfred asks.

“It is, Lord.”

Uhtred looks to him. “Let’s return to the others.”

 

* * *

 

The farmstead is quiet as they approach. Leofric glances at Uhtred.

“There is pain here for you, my love,” Iseult says, her voice trembling.

Uhtred and Leofric spur their horses forward in unspoken agreement, riding together into the village.

Uhtred dismounts, and Leofric follows immediately, remaining behind Uhtred as he bends to inspect a body.

“Do you know them?” he asks.

“Tenants,” Uhtred replies, then sets off towards his house.

The hall is ransacked, and Leofric waits in the doorway, unable to bring himself to intrude. When Uhtred comes rushing out with purposeful steps, Leofric follows, only stopping when Uhtred drops to his knees on the ground and begins digging into the earth desperately with his bare hands. Leofric feels a cold sense of dread trickle down his spine. Uhtred draws a bundle of cloth out of the ground, sobbing brokenly.

The realisation of what’s in the bundle has Leofric stepping forwards determinedly. He doesn’t know what he can possibly do, but he can’t just stand idly by either, far too far away from Uhtred to provide any level of consolation. He takes another step, his heart aching, but this time he feels a hand on his forearm, holding him back. He can only watch as Iseult passes him to give the comfort to Uhtred that he yearns to.

Instead he stands, a silent sentinel to Uhtred’s grief, even as the others drift away, unable to watch.

He only turns to leave when it becomes apparent that they are not moving apart.

 

* * *

 

“Where is he?” Leofric asks, when Iseult enters the house alone.

“He’s gone for a walk,” she replies, her voice distant. “He wants to be alone.”

Leofric nods and walks out, ignoring Iseult’s small noise of protest.

 

* * *

 

He finds Uhtred where he expected; where he’d always come to clear his head during the early days here. The hill overlooks the farmstead, with forest to the front and back, and the lake stretching off to the side.

Uhtred seems unsurprised that Leofric has found him here; he doesn’t even glance at Leofric as he sits down next to him. Besides, if he’d really wanted to be alone where no one could find him, he would have chosen somewhere else, somewhere Leofric wouldn’t know of.

“Iseult said you wanted to be alone,” Leofric says, as though this explains his presence.

“You never were very good at taking a hint,” Uhtred says. There’s a touch of humour in his voice, even though it doesn’t show on his face.

“If you don’t want to talk, we can just sit,” Leofric supplies.

“I think, perhaps, it’s not a bad thing I’m not alone,” Uhtred says after a while. “I’ve hated the world for so long, I almost didn’t notice it had died down. These last few months… It’s like we didn’t even comprehend of a world beyond those marshes. The real world seemed so distant…” He chokes off the rest of his words.

Leofric understands what he means; the sacrifice of another life hadn’t felt real in comparison to the baby who had been there with them, wailing and deathly pale.

“No one could have known how close to home it would be,” Leofric says, and he’s not sure who he’s trying to reassure. “Iseult seemed upset.”

“I don’t blame her,” Uhtred says, a little too quickly.

“I never said you did,” Leofric gently reminds him.

“I abandoned him,” Uhtred says, and from the anguish in his voice Leofric can tell that this is the crux of it. “He was my son.” His voice breaks on the words.

Leofric reaches out to place a hand on Uhtred’s thigh; is surprised when Uhtred grips back, tightly, unyielding. His fingers dig into the underside of Leofric’s palm. There is no apology he can express in words. Instead he lifts their joined hands enough to brush a rough kiss against the back Uhtred’s hand. It’s an awkward gesture—he was not made for this—but Uhtred seems to appreciate it.

This is the comfort Leofric could not give him earlier, in sight of all those people. Here there is no one to see them. They could be alone together anywhere, and it would not change this.

 

* * *

 

“Will you keep watch tonight?” Uhtred asks, as they walk back through the forest.

“Of course,” Leofric says, and waits for Uhtred to explain further. He can sense that he’s going to, can almost feel him buzzing next to him with unspoken words, as though he’s just trying to work out how to say it.

“Iseult and I…” he trails off. “Well, we don’t know how long we’ve got, do we?”

Leofric nods in understanding, admiring Uhtred’s diplomatic wording for a change.

“Which is why it’d be stupid not to do this,” Uhtred continues thoughtfully, and presses Leofric against the nearest tree.

 

* * *

 

It is only just daylight when Uhtred and Iseult come striding out of the forest.

“Morning,” Uhtred greets him, although he does not sound as cheerful as Leofric would have expected.

“Sleep well?” he asks, trying for a cheeky smile, but Uhtred does not even look at him.

“He means did you hump well?” Halig chips in.

“I know what he means,” Uhtred replies, in the same dead voice. Leofric looks quizzically at him.

“Sleep well lady?” Halig rudely asks of Iseult. Leofric cuffs him over the head as he passes. Uhtred makes no move to do the same.

 

* * *

 

“What’s wrong?” Leofric asks quietly as they ride together at the front of the group.

“She knew that my sister was alive,” Uhtred tells him. “That’s what Skorpa told her, when he whispered in her ear. She knew – and didn’t tell me until now.”

“Could you have done anything, even if you’d known?”

“I wouldn’t have wasted time in those marshes, for a start.”

“Perhaps not,” Leofric agrees. “But without you we might not have even made it that far. Think about it – if you’d gone straight off from Cornwalum, I still would have been rotting in that cell until the Danes arrived and killed me.”

“I would have taken you with me,” Uhtred says quietly.

“In which case Alfred would have been completely undefended, his son would be dead, he never would have made it out of the marshes, and England would be lost.”

“Since when did you become so reasonable rather than just blindly following me?” Uhtred huffs, but concedes the point.

“I’m still following you blindly, arseling,” Leofric admits quietly.

 

* * *

 

A group of men ride towards them in the trees. Uhtred and Leofric move forward to meet them, whilst the others hang back.

“Your horses belong to whom?” Leofric asks, instinctively taking the lead.

“The Lord Odda. You will let us pass.”

“You selling or buying?”

“Selling. To the Danes,” the man says. Uhtred looks at Leofric. “There is a peace. Did you not know?”

“Odda has made a peace? No, I did not.” Uhtred looks pointedly behind him at Alfred. Leofric glances at Uhtred, sees the smug smile on his face.

Leofric cajoles his horse into moving aside to let the men pass, and Uhtred does the same.

 

* * *

 

They ride into Odda’s estate together, staying close to each other and dismounting at the same time.

“It is strange to be back here,” Leofric murmurs as they are led into the hall.

“Leofric! Uhtred, my prayers have been answered!” Aethelwold crows, arms thrown open in a gesture of welcome. Leofric glares at him. “God is good,” he mumbles.

“Lords,” Leofric nods, “it is good to see you both safe and well.”

“Leofric, you are home,” Odda the Elder says, with relief in his voice.

 _In part_ , Leofric thinks. This—stone and wood—although familiar, is not home; but he is here with Uhtred next to him, and that would be enough to make anywhere feel like home.

The son is not so welcoming. “Where in God's name have you been?”

“Hiding, Lord, and killing Danes,” Leofric’s face is stone, and his voice flat.

“Hopefully not on my land,” Young Odda responds.

“We've been sent by the King. We bring orders from the King,” Uhtred says.

“What King is that?”

“King Alfred?” Odda the Elder says, wonder in his voice.

“Who else, Lord?”

“Wessex, it seems, is full of kings,” Young Odda continues. “There is Guthrum, who is King of East Anglia, who now sits in Winchester. There is Aethelwold here who will tell anyone who cares to listen that he is King. Where will it end?”

“I have Alfred's written order,” Uhtred says.

“It means nothing.”

“You are to raise the fyrd,” Uhtred commands, holding out the parchment with the order.

“It is over for Alfred!” Odda says, his voice dripping with dislike. “Alfred gave up on Wessex. He decided to save himself! No man has been more loyal to Alfred than my father and I! But he has failed us! Danes surround us, and he is hiding. Alfred is King of the Eels... slippery and elusive.”

“See it’s true,” Uhtred says, exchanging a glance with Leofric. “You have sided with the Danes. What has Skorpa promised you?” he asks, approaching Odda with a quiet menace. “Are you to be King, Odda?”

“Leofric, are you still my man?” Odda asks, looking to him, even as Uhtred tries to cut across the words. “I asked you a question, Leofric.”

 _What other answer is there?_ “I am still your man, Lord,” he says, feeling his throat constrict.

Odda walks forward, stopping in front of Leofric. All eyes are on them. “Then you will finish the business you have with this Dane and kill him.”

Leofric looks at Uhtred, and sees no fear in his eyes. This is nothing like the trial. He can see this time that Uhtred knows he will not hurt him.  

Odda’s face is thunder. “You have my order... Kill him.”

“Lord, I cannot do that.” He hears the quiver in his own voice.

“I stand here as Alfred's messenger,” Uhtred says commandingly, unafraid.

“I will not tell you again, Leofric.”

“If any man tried to kill me, then that man is a traitor to the King.”

“Leofric, you will kill him,” Odda commands again. “Alfred is no longer my King!”

“I will not do it, Lord,” Leofric says, with quiet anger, and a certain, steady voice. This is his final denial.

None of them notice Alfred creeping further out of the crowd, nor Odda the Elder’s increasing agitation.

Just as Leofric thinks that Odda might move to kill Uhtred himself, Lord Odda steps forwards and plunges his knife into his son.

In the aftermath, Leofric catches Uhtred looking at him.

His master is dead, and the family he was sworn to serve are stripped of their status. Leofric no longer belongs to them.

 

* * *

 

“You defied him,” Uhtred says, with something like wonder in his voice.

“I couldn’t have obeyed him.”

“You did once,” Uhtred points out.

“No, I stopped him from killing you himself,” Leofric says, “the only way I knew how. I would have sooner killed him and taken the consequences, rather than ever raise a sword at you again.”

Uhtred is silent for a moment. “Lucky it didn’t come that.”

“Quite.”

“You don’t have to take orders anymore,” Uhtred smiles.

Leofric returns the smile. “The north better be worth it,” he remarks.

 

* * *

 

They arrive at Egbert’s Stone. There are no men yet to meet them, and so they set up camp.

Uhtred and Iseult spend the evening cuddled together. Iseult does not seem to want to let him go.

 

* * *

 

Leofric claps Uhtred on the shoulder, unable to do anything more with all the people milling around them, preparing for battle. His hand lingers, touch turning to a clasp, and it is their only concession towards intimacy.

“I might fight for the King, and for England,” Leofric says, “but I also fight for you.”

Uhtred’s eyes say everything his voice cannot.

Leofric wishes he could lean forwards, plunder Uhtred’s mouth with his tongue, but now is not the time. Perhaps if they both survive this, there will be a time for them.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred sees the dull flash of the axe out of the corner of his eye, and turns to see the spurt of blood from Leofric’s neck before his friend drops back.

The shock and devastation is clear on his face for a moment, before he has to bury his feelings and continue to push forwards.

 

* * *

 

Uhtred looks down at the body before him.

Aethelwold wordlessly passes him Leofric’s sword.

He is close to tears as he takes Leofric’s hand in his, and places the sword into it. He holds them tight against Leofric’s chest as he reaches for the other, and pulls it over their still joined hands. He pauses for a moment, trying to pretend that this clasp will not be their last.

“His grave is to be marked like that of an ealdorman.” His voice is wrecked. He does not let go of Leofric’s hands.

Aethelwold does not even question it.

It is only natural that Uhtred wishes to gift Leofric with the status he had earned, but could not achieve in life. It is the highest honour he can give to a man who deserved so much more than death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it folks! I really really hope you've enjoyed reading.
> 
> Depending on how series 2 goes, I might write an AU where Leofric lives and joins Uhtred in the north... (Update: [I did](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387011/chapters/22940250)!)
> 
> If you need more Leofric/Uhtred in your life, you can check out my fanmix [here](https://8tracks.com/skatingthinandice/loyal-til-you-die) and my tumblr graphics [here](http://skatingthinandice.tumblr.com/tagged/tlk-edit)


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